The Birds and the Bees
by ClassyGirlsWearPearls
Summary: The five times that John and Sherlock managed to right themselves before their son Hamish walked in on them doing the nasty and the one time they didn't. There will be man sex. You've been warned.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

Hamish was three when he stumbled upon his parents kissing. It wasn't that he hadn't seen them kiss before, but this was different. He was fairly certain that his Papa was trying to eat his Dad.

He stood there frozen for a moment. Papa was too caught up in having Dad as a midnight snack to notice him. Dad was up against the wall. One of his legs was hooked around Papa's thigh. One hand was under Papa's shirt and the other was gripping his hair, as if he was trying to pull him off. He was squirming, as if he was trying to get away but he was really just ending up rubbing closer to Papa.

What broke Hamish out of his daze was when his Dad let out a moan into his Papa's mouth. His little heart shattered. _Dad is in pain and I need to help him_, Hamish thought with a tiny gasp. He ran over to them, grabbed onto one of Papa's legs, and screamed, "Stop eating Daddy!"

With a loud _pop_, Sherlock and John broke apart. The stared down at their small son, who was holding onto Sherlock's leg as if his life depended on it. They were disheveled and red in the face. Their shirts were undone a bit and their hair was messy. After a few seconds of stunned silence, they looked back at each other and began laughing.

Hamish couldn't understand what was so funny. His Papa was killing his Dad. Why were they laughing at this? They were supposed to stop people from killing other people. It was their job. Why were they laughing at this potential murder?

"Papa," Hamish said seriously. "I want to call Uncle Greg. I don't want you to kill Daddy. He needs to come and arrest you."

His dads were howling at this point. It took them a few seconds, but finally his Dad managed to choke out, "We can't laugh, Sherlock, it's a crime scene." But that set them off again.

Hamish still gripped his Papa's leg, thoroughly confused. The two of them finally managed to settle down and his Papa picked him up. "No!" Hamish cried.

Sherlock looked puzzled. "No what, Hamish?"

"Put me down! I don't want you to eat me too!" Hamish wailed, struggling against his Papa's grip.

"Oh, Hamish. I would never eat you," Sherlock smiled.

Hamish calmed down a bit. "But you were eating Daddy, and I don't want you to eat him."

Sherlock sat Hamish down on his lap on the couch, and John joined them, wrapping his arms around his husband and his son.

"Hamish," John began to explain. "Papa wasn't trying to eat me. He was just kissing me."

Hamish was puzzled. "That wasn't kissing. Kissing is just a little peck."

Sherlock shook his head. "Sometimes, grown-ups get a little carried away when they're kissing someone who they love. It doesn't mean that we're hurting each other. It means we love each other."

"Then why don't you kiss me like that?" Hamish asked, now feeling slightly hurt.

"It's only something you're supposed to do with your husband or wife," John replied, ruffling Hamish's blonde curls. "You can do that when you're much, _much_ older. For now, you're just supposed to give little pecks. That's how daddies show their babies how much they love them."

"Oh." Hamish nodded, and then he began to yawn.

"I think it's time for bed for a certain young man, don't you think Daddy?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, I certainly agree, Papa," John smiled. "Let's go, Hamish."

John and Sherlock tucked their son into bed and sat with him until they were certain he had fallen back into a deep sleep. They crept back downstairs as quietly as they could, making sure to shut Hamish's door behind them.

"Christ," John sighed, rubbing his forehead and flopping down on the sofa. "Well, that was something I was hoping we would never have to deal with."

"It was rather awkward," Sherlock agreed, sitting down next to his husband and throwing his arm around John's shoulders. John leaned on Sherlock's shoulder and began to press soft kisses to the side of his neck.

"Do you think we could pick up where we left off, or has the mood been sufficiently killed?" John asked between kisses.

"Oh, I think that we could work past the awkwardness," Sherlock chuckled, shifting them so John was lying on the couch and he was on top of him. "I do feel bad about one thing, though," Sherlock added as he worked more of John's shirt buttons open and kissed his chest.

"Mmmmm," John hummed, arching into Sherlock's kisses. "What's that?"

"I really do think that I could just eat." Sherlock stopped to nip John's firm chest. "You." He moved to John's neck and bit there. "Up." He grabbed John's lower lip with his teeth and gently pulled at it.

"You're such a corny bastard," John choked out before he captured Sherlock's mouth with his. They then proceeded to pick up where they had left off, but this time with their son fast asleep and mercifully without any interruptions.

**A/N: Hello hello! So this little thing popped into my head a few weeks ago and I've been writing follow up chapters. I hate when I have to wait for new chapters of stories, so I wanted to make sure I was done before I went ahead and posted this. For those of you wondering why this story is rated the way it is, well, you're just going to have to wait and see why. I promise there is smut written. Promise promise promise. Since it can get a bit confusing, Hamish is calling John "Daddy" and Sherlock "Papa" in this story. Please read and review, if you feel so inclined (I will love you forever if you do review, though. Even if it's constructive criticism and not showering me with the love that I so obviously deserve.). Thanks for reading!**

**Obligatory disclaimer: I own nothing. My deepest apologies to ACD and Moftiss for butchering their perfect characters.**


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

John and Sherlock had been out celebrating their eighth wedding anniversary, and they had consumed a bit too much celebratory champagne. They stumbled over the threshold of the front door and fumbled their way up the seventeen steps to their flat.

It really wasn't their fault that they were so demonstrative. They had dropped Hamish with Mrs. Hudson for the night and didn't have to worry about where he was when they came back into the flat from their date. Mrs. Hudson had given them a wink when they had dropped the four-year-old off downstairs and had warned them that even though the walls were fairly thick, she remembered what it had been like when they had first gotten together and that she didn't have child sized earplugs. John had blushed and muttered something about her not having to worry about that, and Sherlock had merely tugged John out and said something about being as loud as he wanted that somehow sent blood simultaneously to John's cheeks and his groin.

They had been to a lovely restaurant, which was where the champagne had been consumed. There was then a walk for several blocks in the direction of home that included several stops for kisses where someone was pressed up against the wall of the nearest building, and eventually they hailed a cab and got a bit too frisky in the back seat.

Somehow, they managed to get through the door of their flat, and instead of heading straight for their bedroom, they made a detour to the couch. Sherlock landed on his back and John stretched himself out along his husband, kissing every bit of exposed skin that he could find and rolling his hips onto Sherlock's, causing his husband to moan in pleasure. Sherlock fumbled with the buttons on John's crisp white dress shirt as John wriggled free of his sport coat and gripped Sherlock's head with both of his hands, one resting on a gorgeous cheekbone and one buried deep in the dark, curly locks on Sherlock's scalp. John was seriously considering forgetting the idea of the bedroom for the time being and taking Sherlock right there on the couch and potentially on the floor if the need arose as he worked on divesting Sherlock of his shirt when suddenly-

"Ooh ooh!"

The two of them broke for air and raised their heads. There stood Mrs. Hudson in her nightgown, and in her arms was Hamish in his pajamas.

"Daddy! Papa!" Hamish cried and he reached for the two of them.

Sherlock let his head fall back and groaned. John smiled at his baby and held out his arms for him.

"I'm so sorry, dear," Mrs. Hudson smiled apologetically. "I don't think that he actually fell asleep. I think that he was just waiting for you two."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry for the trouble," John sighed, accepting his son. "Hello, sweetheart!" John sat Hamish on the back of the sofa and kissed his chubby cheeks.

"Hi, Daddy," he yawned. "Did you and Papa have a nice date?"

"It _was_ lovely," Sherlock groaned. John squeezed his hips with his legs and sent him a threatening glare. Getting the message, he sighed and asked, "How was your evening with Nan?"

Hamish yawned again and said, "We had lots and lots of fun! Why are you and Daddy not wearing your shirts properly and lying on the couch instead of the bed? Isn't this only the place you're supposed to sleep when you're in trouble? Did you get in trouble and Uncle Greg arrested you and now you have to sleep on the couch because you were naughty?"

At this, Mrs. Hudson let out a little noise that sounded like an apology. She knew exactly what the two of them were going to be getting up to.

John sighed. Hamish really was asking too many questions. "We were tired and we decided that we wanted to sleep out here rather than in the bedroom because it was too far away. Nobody is in trouble tonight, baby."

Sherlock giggled at this. Hamish had found out about people sleeping on the couch when they were bad after a particularly gruesome experiment that had resulted in Sherlock nearly blowing up the flat while Hamish was playing only ten feet from the kitchen. John was so furious with him that he had thrown a few pillows and blankets at Sherlock and said that if he even _thought _about coming in and sleeping in their bed he would be going to stay with Mycroft for an indefinite period of time. This was right after Mycroft and Lestrade had gotten together, so they were in the stage of their relationship where they were having sex every possible waking minute on ever surface of Mycroft's home. Restriction of this privilege would have resulted in Lestrade stopping Sherlock's access to cases and Mycroft taking out his sexual frustration on his brother. Needless to say, Sherlock had obediently gone to the couch and didn't even think about their bedroom for the rest of the night.

Hamish seemed satisfied by the answer. "But why are your shirts off and you hair looks like you have morning hair?"

"We were so tired that we didn't finish getting into our pajamas," Sherlock supplied. "We fell asleep for a little while and we got our morning hair."

"That's silly," Hamish yawned, nuzzling into John's shoulder.

"Yes it is. You look sleepy, baby," John remarked. "Do you want to continue your sleepover with Nan?"

Hamish looked uncertain, but then Mrs. Hudson stepped in and said, "I'll let you sleep in my bed with that special pillow that you like."

Hamish's eyes went wide. "The blue one?" he asked, his eyes full of hope.

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Why don't you say goodnight to your daddy and your papa and we'll go back down? How does that sound?"

Hamish nodded and gave both of his parents a kiss. Mrs. Hudson scooped him up and winked at them before locking their door and closing it.

John and Sherlock waited a few minutes until they were sure that the door to the downstairs flat was shut. As soon as they heard that, Sherlock hooked his leg around one of John's and flipped them over. He kissed John with more urgency than they had before and ground his hips against John's much harder than they'd been doing it a few minutes earlier. They managed to completely divest each other of their clothing, and then Sherlock flipped them once again, but this time they lay on the floor with Sherlock still on top and thrusting his naked erection against John's, causing both of them to cry out in pleasure.

There were small bottles of lube hidden strategically in their flat where Hamish wouldn't find them. There just so happened to be one stored under the couch cushion in a spot that their son couldn't reach at any angle with his small arms. He squirted a generous amount onto his fingers and circled John's entrance as he sucked on John's nipples.

It wasn't long before Sherlock was buried to the root inside of John and he was thrusting harder than he had in a very long time into his husband. He was doing an excellent job of hitting John's prostate with nearly every thrust. In order to kiss John to muffle their moans (they were slightly mindful of what Mrs. Hudson had said to them before they left for dinner), Sherlock had to fold his body so his stomach was arched. John whimpered at the loss of contact of skin on skin, so he arched up into Sherlock, reminding them both just how well their bodies fit together. Sherlock used the little leeway that he had with his movement to pepper John's jaw and mouth with kisses and nips. John, desperate for more, pushed Sherlock's head harder onto his skin and rocked his hips to meet each one of Sherlock's thrusts and to ensure that his cock stayed trapped between both of their bodies, ensuring the wonderful friction he needed to get off.

In no time at all, John stiffened and began spurting in between the two of them. The clenching of the muscles around Sherlock caused Sherlock to let out a low, almost animalistic noise and then he was coming hard into John's tight cavity.

The two of them lay there without moving for several minutes. Sherlock's face was still buried in John's neck and John was gently threading his fingers through Sherlock's curls. Sherlock slipped out of John as he softened and John could feel Sherlock's rapidly cooling semen dripping out of his hole.

"We were too tired to get into our pajamas and fell asleep half-dressed on the couch?" John mused, finally having time to digest what Sherlock had said to get their son out of the flat again.

"I couldn't think of a proper excuse," Sherlock whined. "You were sitting on me and there was no blood left in my brain. It was difficult not making some obscene noise in front of him."

John chuckled and ran his hands down Sherlock's spine and kissed the top of his head. "Thank God he young and sleepy."

Sherlock hummed in response and leaned up, brushing his nose against John's. Soon, they were kissing lazily and beginning to move against each other again. This time, John tugged his husband up and began to drag him to the bedroom. He was planning on making slow and passionate love to the man who he loved most, and this time, there were going to be no interruptions.

**A/N: Hello my lovelies! I promised this story would live up to the rating I gave it, and I believe it has. This will not be the end of the smut, though! There are still four more chapters left of this little thing. Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited, or reviewed this story! It really means a lot to me. Please continue to read and review.**

**As per usual, I own nothing, and my deepest apologies to ACD and Moftiss for absolutely destroying their characters.**


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

It eight in the morning and the sun was streaming through the curtains of John and Sherlock's hotel room. Sherlock was pressed up against his husband's back, sleeping soundly. John, however, wasn't sleeping as soundly. The light was just hitting his face and in his state of semi consciousness he could feel something jutting into his lower back, but he wasn't quite sure what.

After a few minutes, he had worked it out. Sherlock had morning wood, and John was quickly growing his own. He popped his head up to ensure that the door to their room was shut and that Hamish hadn't left his room in the suite to come to theirs. Once he was sure that they were all clear, he lay back down and pressed back into Sherlock and wriggled his hips.

Sherlock groaned a bit in his sleep and he pressed back lightly into John. He wrapped his right hand around and slipped his hand under the elastic of John's boxers. Soon John was rolling over and they were rocking together, moaning softly into each other's mouths. He gripped both of Sherlock's lower cheeks tightly, kneading them roughly and teasing Sherlock's entrance with an outstretched finger. Both of them knew that they wouldn't actually make it to penetration, but it caused Sherlock to buck harder against John's groin and made them both groan again.

Morning sex was generally a fairly quick ordeal with them, and today was no exception to that rule. As much as they couldn't be bothered to take their clothes off to feel the friction of skin against skin. John was rapidly reaching the point of no return when Sherlock stilled.

"Sherlock-" John began to moan especially seductively. He could feel Sherlock's erection begin to flag and began tried to resume movement so it returned.

"Hush, John. Listen," Sherlock whispered.

John's ears perked up, and after a few seconds, he heard the light footsteps of small feet approaching their room.

He groaned and rolled over so his back was facing Sherlock. "Thank God we kept our pants on," he said, a slight whine tinting his voice as their door was thrown open and their seven-year-old son launched himself into the center of their bed and began jumping up and down.

"Daddy! Papa! Daddy! Papa! Up up up!" he shouted in an effort to make sure that John and Sherlock were awake so they could get on with their vacation.

Sherlock pulled their son down between them and began to tickle him. Hamish squealed and tried to get his Dad to join in with them. John was having trouble though. He was busy trying to get past the fact that he was incredibly frustrated that he and Sherlock had been interrupted for the third time since Hamish had started walking. These cockblocks weren't just aggravating. They were getting worrying. Sherlock noticed how agitated John was, and stopped tickling Hamish.

"Why don't you go into your room? You can get dressed and get ready for the day, and then we'll go down and get some breakfast," Sherlock suggested.

Hamish jumped up excitedly and hopped off the bed. "Close our door so we can get changed too!" Sherlock called as he left. Eager to please his Papa, Hamish doubled back and slammed the door a bit too forcefully.

John had sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He wondered if he had time to move his daily shower to the morning so he could have a quick wank before they had to start the day. He didn't have enough time to think through the idea any more when in seemingly one swift motion Sherlock was pulling him back onto the bed, yanking down his boxers, and taking his entire cock into his mouth. John threw his head back and bucked into his husband's mouth. It didn't take him long to spill into his husband's mouth, and he quickly righted himself so he could plunge his hand into Sherlock's boxers and yank furiously on his cock.

As John lay on the bed catching his breath, he couldn't stop thinking about how many times Hamish had nearly caught them. As he watched Sherlock's delectable body moving into their bathroom, he sighed and resolved to be much more careful in the future with their lovemaking. As much as he loved having wild and passionate sex with his husband, he couldn't have Hamish walking in on them during such a private moment. He just couldn't.

**A/N: A bit shorter today. I tried to make it longer, but it just got rambly, and I quite liked the prompt and didn't want to get rid of it. As always, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed this story, and if anyone has suggestions or constructive criticism or wants to shower me with praise (you know you want to), please feel free to review.**

**I own nothing. My deepest and sincerest apologies to ACD and Moftiss for killing their characters.**


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Hamish was eight the next time that he nearly caught them.

This time, it was all Sherlock's fault.

Hamish was in the living room watching television and he was completely absorbed in the show. Sherlock was in the kitchen doing an experiment and was completely absorbed in just how horny he was rather than his experiment.

He peeked out and checked that his son was destroying his brain cells with whichever stupid singing animated creature was on the screen. Satisfied that nothing would draw Hamish's attention away from his show, he crept towards the bedroom.

John was in the bathroom brushing his teeth when it happened. Sherlock threw open the door with a feral look in his eyes and turned on the shower to drown out any noise.

John didn't have time to really register that Sherlock was actually in the room when he choked on his toothbrush and moaned as Sherlock swallowed his cock in one swift movement,

"_Are you fucking insane?" _he whispered as Sherlock bobbed up and down on him, using his fist to stimulate the parts that he couldn't reach. "Hamish-"

Sherlock let go with an obscene pop and said, "John, if you are going to talk while I'm sucking you off, I think that the mood is going to be sufficiently killed. Now kindly shut up and let me finish this." He then plunged back onto John's rapidly hardening length and resumed his work with renewed vigor.

John's head rolled back and in no time he was thrusting into Sherlock's mouth. He stood there, wantonly moaning and panting, one hand petting Sherlock's curls and the other gripping the sink in a feeble attempt to keep himself upright. Sherlock was applying just the right amount of pressure and his sucks lasted just long enough that they were torturous. It had been nearly two weeks since they had made love and John knew that he wasn't going to last much longer. As he steeled himself and did everything he could to make this fantastic blowjob last just a minute longer, their bedroom door opened and-

"Papa! Where did you go?"

John had rarely seen Sherlock move so quickly. He leapt into the shower, fully clothed, and left John achingly hard in the center of their bathroom, boxers around his ankles, flushed, and realizing that his baby boy was about to walk in on him with a stiff one. His mind was working slowly, but he decided that pretending that he was using the bathroom would be his best option in this situation. He hiked up his boxers and stepped over to the toilet doing everything he could to make sure that he held his cock so it was facing down rather than up.

Hamish peeked into the bathroom. "Where's Papa?" he asked.

"He's in the shower. He'll be back out to play with you soon," John managed to get out. "Why don't you go out and finish your show? I'll be out as soon as I finish getting ready."

"Okay, Dad!" Hamish closed the door behind him. John waited until he heard the door to their bedroom close before he ripped open the shower curtain to find Sherlock curled up in a ball on the floor, fully clothed, and palming himself through his trousers.

"You are such a fucking coward," John growled. "There are not words to describe just how much I hate you right now."

"I couldn't think-"

"That is _such _bullshit," John shot back. He pulled his erection out of his boxers and began stroking himself, aiming it into the shower.

"John. Let me-"

"No, just shut up and let me enjoy this," John moaned. He was close and it wouldn't take him very long to get off. From the looks of it, Sherlock wasn't far off either. He moved to pull his throbbing cock out of his trousers, but John smacked him on the back of his head when that happened. "You're going to come in your pants like a fucking teenager for instigating this, you prick."

Sherlock moaned and nodded obediently. He continued to palm himself and watched as John alternated between strokes and rolling the tip of his delectable dick with the palm of his hand. Soon enough, though, he was thrusting into his hand and was spilling himself onto Sherlock. Sherlock stretched his neck out and did everything he could to catch whatever he could of what John was sending into the shower. As soon as he caught his first drops, though, he choked and stiffened, and John could tell that he was spilling himself in his pants.

Once he had both come down, John turned wordlessly and finished brushing his teeth. Sherlock hadn't made a move to take his clothes off, let alone leave the shower. John knew he was waiting for him to finish what he had been doing when Sherlock had interrupted him with that surprise blowjob. To torment him, John took a bit longer than usual. Once he was done, he reopened the shower curtain and said, "Give me your clothes and get yourself cleaned up."

Sherlock stripped obediently. "John-"

"I swear, if you try to apologize again, I will smash your skull, and I don't mean the one that is currently housing your brain. You're lucky I love you so much."

Sherlock blushed. "Will I be sleeping in our bed then, tonight, or will it be the couch?"

John pretended to ponder this for a few seconds. "Normally you would be on the couch, but I firmly believe in finishing a job if you've already started it, and it would be such a shame to put something this important off until tomorrow night." He bent down and gave his husband a kiss on his wet curls.

"Thank you for your benevolence." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John chuckled darkly. "I might be benevolent now, but you should see what types of punishment I have in store for you tonight."

Sherlock shuddered. "I think I'm getting hard again."

John was already leaving the bathroom and had a hand on the doorknob. He turned to see his husband, the flush creeping back into his cheeks and his cock rising again. He briefly considered going back and being merciful, but instead he said, "I wouldn't take care of that right now if I were you. _That _particular offense could land you a few nights on the couch." He then blew a kiss at his husband and closed the door behind him.

Sherlock honestly couldn't say whether or not he still love John in that moment or if he hated him.

**A/N: This chapter will be continued in the final chapter where they are able to get their shit sorted before Hamish barges in on them (rude.). Who says close calls can't happen twice in one day?**

**As always, I own nothing, and apologies for this wretched butchering of the characters.**


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

John was making good on his promise from earlier in the day. Sherlock had behaved himself the rest of the day. He had helped John make dinner, had helped Hamish clean up his toys, moved an experiment because it was inconveniently placed, done the dishes, and had read Hamish _four _bedtime stories. He then stayed upstairs and cuddled with his son until he was sure that he was in a deep sleep. Sherlock then carefully untangled himself from Hamish and practically jumped down all of the stairs.

John was irritatingly reading in his armchair, looking completely at ease. His hair had gone a bit more grey in recent years and he had started using reading glasses, which Sherlock found incredibly sexy. John knew what this did to him and he was just torturing him. To make matters worse, once John heard him come down the stairs, he began flexing the fingers of his left hand, the one he used to prepare Sherlock, in the exact motion that he used to stretch him open. Sherlock's mouth went dry at the sight.

He had to play it cool, though. He couldn't take much more of this. So he shook his head, silently expelled all of the air from his lungs, and sat in his chair across from his husband. John didn't acknowledge him for exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds. Sherlock was about to lose his composure and say something when John stood up, gave him a seductive glance, and held out his hand for Sherlock to take. Sherlock followed John, his heart fluttering rapidly. John could feel the fluttering, and he stroked Sherlock's knuckles gently with his thumb.

"I was going to use this opportunity to torture you, but I think I can think of a better way to spend our time, don't you?" John whispered into Sherlock's ear, licking the outer shell and causing Sherlock to shudder violently.

"I'm amenable." Sherlock thought it was a miracle that he was able to respond at all.

John smiled and laid him down on the bed and his husband of his clothes. He then reached into the drawer where they kept lube in their bedside table and pulled out some silk straps. Sherlock's eyes got wide, and John smiled sheepishly. "I want to do all the work tonight."

"Is that fair? Considering the fact that I made you finish my work earlier today?"

John chuckled and secured one of Sherlock's wrists to the bedpost. "I actually thought it was incredibly hot. I figured I should return the favor. Would you just relax and enjoy yourself for once?"

Sherlock nodded and sighed contentedly. "Don't you think you're wearing too much?"

John finished securing the other wrist and kissed it. "I don't want you being distracted. I know what seeing my irresistible body does to you."

"Modest as ever."

"Always. Now shut up."

John worshipped Sherlock's body without any interruptions from his husband. He kissed every inch of skin, left love bites all over and licked the abused flesh after to soothe it, and put his hands wherever they could reach. He even broke out the flavored lube that they used on special occasions and tortured Sherlock by brushing his core, but not getting quite to the spot that he desperately needed to be touched at. He brought him to the edge several times, and then backed off to prolong things.

Finally, Sherlock was moaning wantonly and finally was begging John to take him. John smiled and decided that Sherlock had had enough. He was about to finally get out of his clothes and make slow, sweet love to his husband when he heard feet coming down the stairs.

"Fuck," he groaned. He tossed the sheet over Sherlock and less than ten seconds later, Hamish was in their doorway. His eyes went wide with fear when he saw his Papa tied up on his bed.

"What's happening?" he asked.

John looked at Sherlock, who was no longer flushed from arousal, but from humiliation. He opened his mouth but for once was speechless. John glared at him and was about to respond when Hamish noticed the red welts all over Sherlock's body and started crying.

"Papa, did someone kidnap you and hurt you?"

John walked over to hug his son and was trying to think of a good cover story when Sherlock answered and said, "Yes, but your Daddy found me and scared them off. Don't worry, Hamish, I'm just fine."

This just made Hamish cry harder. John glared harder at Sherlock. Their son now didn't feel safe in their home, and he thought that his Papa had been tortured. Great. John stroked Hamish's soft blond curls and kissed the top of his head, all the time cooing in his ear to try to calm him down.

Hamish pulled himself together a bit and then walked over to the bedside table where his Dad's cell phone was. He quickly hit his Uncle Greg's number before either of his parents realized what exactly he was doing.

"John, it is past midnight. There had better be a good excuse for this," Lestrade's deep voice growled into the phone.

"Uncle Greg?" Hamish whimpered.

Lestrade immediately sounded more awake and sympathetic. "Hamish? What's the matter?"

"Papa got kidnapped."

"Shit. Where's your Dad?"

Hamish could hear his Uncle Mycroft in the background asking what was the matter, and Uncle Greg shushing him. "He's here. They're both here. Daddy scared them away. Could you and Uncle My come and investigate?"

"Tell me what's happening first. Is your Papa okay?"

"He was tied up on the bed and there are lots of red marks on him. They hurt him, Uncle Greg, please come over." Hamish started crying again.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay. Just put me on with your Dad, okay?"

The next voice Lestrade heard was John's. "Greg, I-"

Lestrade was cracking up on the other end of the conversation. John couldn't get a word in.

"This really isn't funny. Hamish is really frightened."

"Are you telling me that you had Sherlock all tied up for some kinky sex and Hamish walked in on you?" Greg could barely breathe.

"Yes, that's the basic story, but I would rather not get into the details of the whole thing now. Or ever, really, now that I think about it.

Greg had dissolved into howls again and couldn't speak. Mycroft pried the phone from his hands and said, "John, put me on with Hamish, please."

John passed the phone back to Hamish and said, "It's Uncle Mycroft."

Hamish hiccupped into the phone and Mycroft said, "Hamish, I will be sending some people over to watch your flat and keep the three of you safe tonight. Uncle Greg and I will come over tomorrow while you're at school so you don't have to watch the investigation. Now, I advise you go back up to your room and go back to sleep. I won't let anything bad happen to you." Mycroft said the last sentence with a softness that he reserved for the people who he loved the most.

"Promise?"

"I promise. You go back up to your room and go back to sleep. May I speak with your Dad?"

"Yes. Thank you, Uncle My. Love you."

"I love you too," Mycroft smiled. As soon as John was back on the line and Hamish was out of the room, his tone of voice switched. "How could he have possibly walked in on you two doing that?"

"Jesus, Mycroft, it happens. No matter how quiet we are, there's always a chance that he could come in. Thank God I was dressed and I got a sheet over Sherlock before he got in here."

"I don't need the details of the act, John." Mycroft sounded incredibly uncomfortable. "Just tell Hamish that I came over with Greg while he was at school and looked into matters."

"Thanks Mycroft. Sorry for waking you two up," John grimaced. He could still hear Greg laughing in the background. He was going to kill that man.

"I don't believe Gregory is sorry you rang. Oh John, next time you and Sherlock feel the need to engage in acts of bondage, please send Hamish to sleep over here."

John went red. "Right. Thanks. Good night."

Once he had hung up, Sherlock cleared his throat. John had nearly forgotten that he was there. He turned around looking exhausted, and Sherlock said, "If you don't mind, my love, I've been tied up for close to an hour and a half and haven't been allowed to have an orgasm. Could you please take your clothes off so we could possibly finish what we started here?"

"You really are a bastard sometimes, you know that," John sighed as he began to slowly disrobe.

"I am well aware, John," Sherlock grinned maliciously and canted his hips up so he rubbed against the sheet and moaned quietly.

That was too much for John. Within a few seconds, his clothes were in a puddle on the floor and not long after he was inside of Sherlock, moving so slow that Sherlock bit his chest to spur him on. They finally came, and John untied Sherlock, but still stayed sprawled on top of him and buried inside of him until he softened enough to fall out on his own. Sherlock wrapped his arms and legs around him and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"Twice in a day," he remarked. "We really need to be more careful."

"I blame you. You started it today," John mumbled.

"Indeed I did. Let's just go to sleep and we'll figure out how to be more cautious tomorrow."

John hummed into Sherlock's chest and soon enough, they were fast asleep.

**A/N: Hello my lovelies! This was the fifth chapter, so guess what the next chapter is? I know I've been super diligent about updating every day, but tomorrow's is a lot longer than the rest of the chapters and I really want to make sure that it is perfect. It may go up tomorrow if I get time, but if not, it will be up the next day. Promise! Thanks for everyone's support for this story. I'm really enjoying all of the reviews and messages I'm getting about this. It really means so much to me to see that people are enjoying it so much! Y'all are fab!**

**Of course, my obligatory disclaimer, I own nothing here, and I apologize to ACD and Moftiss for destroying their creations.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Exception**

John and Sherlock hadn't seen Hamish for close to two days. They didn't blame him for staying away, and if they were going to be completely honest with each other, they didn't really want to face what was going to come when he finally did show his face at the flat again.

It had all started two nights previously. Hamish had been feeling ill and had gone upstairs early. John had checked up on him around ten and found him fast asleep. Consequently, he had gone down to their sitting area where Sherlock was thinking in his armchair and planted himself into his husband's lap, grinding against him to snap him quickly out of his reverie. Things had escalated quickly between the two of them. Within two minutes, Sherlock had stood up, taking John with him, and they were sprawled on their bed divested of their clothes.

Normally, the two of them were quiet when it came to their lovemaking unless Hamish was sleeping at a friend's house or with Mycroft and Lestrade for the night. This night, though, they got careless. Hamish had taken some Benadryl before going to bed, and normally it knocked him out cold for several hours. It was because of this that the two of them began moaning as they rubbed against each other, then as John began to prepare Sherlock, and finally as John entered his husband and Sherlock arched up and cried, "Stop!" in an effort to adjust and to prolong the event.

Hamish had been stirring and heard his father's moaning, but he figured that it was just one of them feeling sick as he had. His Papa had a flair for being dramatic, and if he felt a fraction as off as Hamish did, he would moan and groan that he was dying and beg for his Dad to use his doctoring skills and make the sickness go away. He rolled over and sighed, knowing that this would probably be happening all night, and did his best to ignore it. It was when he heard his Papa cry out for someone to stop sounding like he was in pain that Hamish started to worry. He sat up and listened for some signs of something dreadful happening to one or both of his parents.

The moans continued and got louder over the next few minutes, occasionally sounding a bit more suffocated. The sound of something thumping against something hard was the final straw for Hamish. He had to go down and investigate and make sure that nothing horrible was happening down there.

John was pounding into Sherlock and Sherlock was crying out with every skillful snap of hips that drove straight to his center and sent electric sparks of pleasure up his spine. John kept capturing his mouth in an effort to muffle the moans a bit, but when that would happen, Sherlock would tighten the muscles that surrounded John and John would have no choice but to throw back his head and cry out in pleasure as well. Soon, Sherlock was begging John to go faster and harder and _yes like that right there oh fuck fuck fuck yes right there like that yes John yes I love you I love- love- love- ah God yes John John John _and John was batting Sherlock's hand away from his own length and was stroking him quickly in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts. Soon, Sherlock was babbling incoherently and John could feel his balls tightening against his length and they were both past the point of no return and Sherlock came in hot ropes that splattered against the headboard and it was too much as John watched that and the muscles squeezed him with _just _the right amount of pressure and-

**_"Oh my God!"_**

Both men's head snapped to the door and in the doorframe stood their eleven year old son, looking horrified and as if he was going to vomit.

_Shit. _John ripped his hand away from Sherlock's cock but there was still cum spurting from Sherlock and Sherlock had stiffened and John was stuck inside of him, still spurting into him. He was speechless and was doing everything he could to stop himself from draining himself into Sherlock but there was no way he could and apparently he was at just the right angle and was hitting Sherlock's prostate head on with every spurt and with every spurt Sherlock moaned involuntarily and clenched a little tighter around John's cock, coaxing John's orgasm out and dragging it out, forcing John's eyes to roll back into his head even though he tried so hard to stop it.

By the time that John was able to speak again, Hamish was gone. _Shit shit shit. _He eased himself out of Sherlock with an obscene "pop" and nearly got hard again when he saw his cum dripping out of Sherlock's ass. _Not now. _He threw on the boxers and undershirt they had discarded carelessly on the floor and dashed out the door.

"John!" Sherlock cried. He hauled himself up and followed his husband, not bothering with clothes and grabbing John's wrist to stop him.

"Let _go _of me, Sherlock!" John growled. He was not in the mood for this right now.

"John, I don't think now is the best time to go up there."

"I don't give a _fuck _what you think right now, love. Our little boy just walked in on us at the end of some mind-blowing sex. I think that we owe him some sort of explanation."

"I don't think that's entirely wise, John. Hamish just saw us both mid-ejaculation. I don't think that I could face my parents after that."

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sherlock," he began calmly. "If you do not let go of my hand within the next two seconds, I will never have sex with you again."

Sherlock dropped his hand.

"Thank you." John then dashed up the stairs to Hamish's room.

Inside, Hamish was curled in the fetal position, trying to block out what he just saw. He knew what sex was. He knew what happened when two men had sex (he had Darren at school to thank for that useful information) and knew that his father's must be sexually active. They were some of the soppiest, romantic people he had ever seen. He had been able to not think of them doing that, though. Until now, that is. As he lay in bed wondering if there was a way that he could lobotomize himself with something in his Papa's lab, there was a knock at his door and his Dad called out his name.

"I'm asleep, Dad."

John sighed and opened the door. "Okay. I just, um, wanted to say I'm sorry. You know, that you had to see, well, that."

"Not sure what you're talking about, Dad. I'm asleep, remember."

"Sure thing, son," he responded

"Could you leave me alone, now?"

"Yeah, I can. Night, Hamish," John sighed, closing the door behind him.

He raced downstairs as fast as he could and shut their bedroom door behind him. John then stripped his clothes back off and climbed back into bed. Sherlock had cleaned himself up and had gotten his cum off of the headboard, and held out the damp cloth to John so he could clean himself up. John wiped himself off with a defeated look in his eyes, and threw the cloth onto the floor with their clothes. He then climbed into bed where six-odd feet of consulting detective curled up against him.

"I'm sorry I was so loud," Sherlock sighed, nuzzling into John's chest.

John chuckled and ran his hand through Sherlock's curls. "I'm sorry I'm so fantastic at shagging you that you couldn't help yourself."

Sherlock laughed a bit at that, but quickly sobered up. "I don't know what we're going to do about this."

"We can't just leave it," John sighed. "The same thing happened to me when I was his age and my parent's never did anything about it. I think it was just more awkward that way."

"It's going to be awkward for him either way," Sherlock said. He was silent for a moment, and then asked, "How did you deal with it?"

"Truthfully? I had just figured out what masturbation was and I was getting erections at the drop of a hat. I just went back to my room with the biggest boner I'd had to date and had a wank."

Sherlock shuddered at that thought. "Perish the thought that Hamish is having a wank over us. It wouldn't be his first time, but I would prefer that there were only two orgasms had in this flat tonight. We'll just talk to him tomorrow night."

"That's probably best," John admitted. He kissed his husband gently and they proceeded to drift off into a deep but troubled sleep.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Hamish was trying as hard as he could to block out the images he'd just seen. It wasn't working, and he ended up vomiting. He decided that tonight he deserved to take a little more medicine than he needed if it helped him sleep. When he gave it some thought, an accidental overdose on Benadryl was probably preferable to seeing his parents again.

The next morning, Hamish got up early. He got himself ready, made himself some breakfast, and packed a change of clothes and his toothbrush at the bottom of his school bag. He then left the flat two hours before he was supposed to leave for school in order to avoid seeing his fathers. He felt a pang of guilt, but then when he remembered what he had seen the night before, he picked up the pace and got as far away from 221B as he could.

John woke up at 6 and dragged himself into the kitchen. He was looking forward to a cup of tea and some toast when he spotted a piece of paper on the counter. Picking it up and squinting sleepily at it, John read the note from his son and sighed deeply, burying his face in his hand. He was completely humiliated. They knew they needed to be more careful, but he had never actually expected Hamish to walk in on them. He just thought there would be many more close calls before Hamish left for school when he turned 18.

By this point, Sherlock had noticed that his body pillow was no longer there and was unable to remain asleep. He followed John into the kitchen and saw his husband leaning over the counter, clearly distressed from his posture. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and pressed a kiss to his neck.

"Morning, my love," he whispered into John's ear, nuzzling the back of his head.

"Hamish has already left for school," John sighed. "This doesn't bode well for us."

Sherlock hummed. "He's embarrassed, as he should be. As I am and as I am sure you are."

"Well, yes, but we can't just go about pretending it didn't happen," John moaned. "We have to face each other eventually."

"Just give him some space, and he'll eventually be able to look us in the eye again."

John groaned. The last time he had looked his son in the eye was as he was emptying himself into Sherlock. This was not going to be easy at all.

Sherlock could feel John tensing up, and he kissed the back of John's neck and around onto his throat a few more times. "You know," he began. "Hamish is already gone, and today is your day off. We could try what we tried last night again, but with a different result."

"After our son walked in on us as we were finishing?" John chuckled. "I don't think that I ever want to have sex again."

Sherlock frowned, but he knew how to get to John. He slid his hands down slowly and began to stroke the inside of John's thighs and cupped his groin. John groaned and arched back into Sherlock's touch, his resistance crumbling.

"No, Sherlock. This is really, _really _wrong," John panted, doing everything he could to make sure that his hips didn't cant up and completely give away the fact that he couldn't resist the tall man behind him.

Sherlock wasn't giving in, though. He nibbled at John's ear and licked the outside of the shell, causing shivers to run up John's spine. The next thing Sherlock knew, John had pressed his lips hard against his, and Sherlock smiled into the kiss.

"I hate you," John whispered, never breaking contact with John's mouth.

"I can live with that," Sherlock replied, tugging John up by the nape of his dressing gown and leading him the short distance back to the bedroom.

Sherlock and John spent the rest of the day having mind blowing sex without any fear of interruption. Hamish spent the rest of the day feeling sick to his stomach.

When he got out of school, Hamish had arranged it so he could go to his friend Andy's house for a sleepover. He wanted to avoid his flat for as long as he could. He called his Dad once he got to Andy's house to tell him he wasn't coming home.

His Dad sounded absolutely buggered out when he picked up the phone. Hamish hoped it was because he was as nervous as he was and not because he and his Papa had been shagging all day.

"Hi Dad. I'm going to sleep over at Andy's house. I packed all of my stuff this morning so no need to come over." _No need for us to actually have to look at each other yet because I really don't think that I can look you in the eye ever again._

"I wouldn't want to impose on Andy's parents-"

"Oh, his mum said it wouldn't be any trouble. I'll get all my homework done and I'll see you sometime. Bye Dad!"

"Hamish-" John tried to continue their conversation but the line was dead. He lay back on the bed and groaned deeply.

"You know, I really prefer when I make you produce those sounds. It is a much nicer sound mid-coitus," Sherlock sighed, rolling over onto his husband and pressing a kiss to John's good shoulder.

"Hamish is sleeping over at Andy's tonight. He packed some stuff this morning and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. If he doesn't find another friend's house to sleep at."

Sherlock tensed. "I don't know how I'm going to handle it when we finally see him. I'm not very good at this stuff."

John chuckled. "Actually, if we're going to be completely accurate about this, you're shit at this type of thing. We've got to talk to him, though. He can't keep running away from us. The sooner we address this, the sooner it will be less awkward for all of us."

They lay there for several more minutes in silence until John said, "I think we should just pick him up from school tomorrow. That way he can't avoid us."

"Do I have a choice in this? You were the one who was doing the majority of the deed when we were so inconveniently interrupted."

"No, you don't. If you don't stand by me during this I will kill you and get your brother to help me cover up the evidence."

Sherlock seemed to ponder this for a few minutes. Finally, he conceded. That may have had something to do with John massaging his scalp in that way that he just couldn't resist.

They spent the rest of the day, a good portion of the night, and some of the morning having sex. At one point between their third to last and second to last romps, John joked that they should be sated until Hamish moved out in a few years. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), Sherlock still had some difficulty separating sarcasm from seriousness and pounced, fucking John within an inch of his life. After they were done, John managed to choke out that he had been joking, but if Sherlock wanted to do that to him on a fairly routine basis, he wouldn't complain.

Despite all of the sex they were having, John was still feeling incredibly guilty. Sherlock could tell, and as much as he was enjoying the sex, his main motivation was to distract John from his thoughts. As soon as he could see John start to focus on the fact that they had just has some pretty fantastic sex, he pounced and would start another round.

When they had first brought Hamish home, Sherlock had caught John one day holding their sleeping son in his nursery talking to the infant. Sherlock couldn't initially understand the significance of the act. After all, Hamish was four days old and would not remember anything that John was saying to him. Then he realized exactly what John was saying and it squeezed his heart.

John's childhood hadn't been incredibly easy. His father was an alcoholic who would occasionally take out his frustration on his son, which was one of the main reasons that John had such a huge problems with Harry's drinking. They hadn't had a lot of money, and John's father had had some difficulty holding down a steady job. His mother had died when he was twelve, and with her, his protector had died too.

On that cold Thursday afternoon, John had sat on the floor of the room that had previously belonged to him holding their newborn. The baby was cooing a bit in his sleep and would occasionally move a limb as he was dreaming, almost as if he was responding to everything John was saying to him. John had sat on the floor, promising Hamish that he would never let anything awful happen to him, that he would love him no matter what happened, and that he would make sure that he had the childhood he deserved, free of demons and abuse and sadness.

Sherlock stood in the doorway as John pressed his forehead down onto Hamish's and cried a few silent tears. He then wiped the wet spots on their son's skull and kissed him as he stood and placed him back in his bassinette.

When he turned around and saw Sherlock in the doorway, he looked a bit sheepish. Sherlock had walked in and embraced him. "He will be so loved, John."

"I know he will," John sighed into Sherlock's chest.

They stood there for a few more minutes, and then Sherlock said, "I love you more than I could have ever fathomed loving another being. You are so incredible, John, and with you as a father, Hamish will have the greatest life that anyone could ever give a child."

John's breath caught again at that, and he just clutched Sherlock like he was a drowning man holding onto a life preserver.

It was this day that made Sherlock extra cautious of how John was dealing with the aftermath of their little mishap. He felt obligated to distract John at every opportunity that presented itself. It was a selfish way to distract himself, but it was getting the job done and that meant Sherlock would shag John until his dick fell off if it meant distracting him.

They finally had to right themselves and go pick their son up. As they sat in a cab on their way to Hamish's school, John said, "Thank you for taking my mind off of things."

"I don't know what you're talking about, John," Sherlock responded, staring out the window.

"Okay, we can go with that if you want. But thank you, anyways. If it wasn't to distract me, then thanks for some fantastic sex." John patted Sherlock's knee and smiled at him. Sherlock cracked a small smile but never took his eyes off of the view out the window. He did reach out to grab John's hand, and didn't let go even as they got out of the cab.

They made sure that they got to the school early enough that he couldn't slip past them. Despite the ridiculous amount of sex they had taken part in over the past 36 hours or so, they we incredibly tense, and Sherlock was gripping John's hand that John was considering slipping off to Bart's to beg Molly to give him an x-ray.

Hamish was one of the last students to leave the school. He was talking to one of his friends who he was planning to stay over with when he spotted his parents and froze. John waved weakly at him. Hamish closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then he began to walk over to them.

"Hi Dad, Papa. What are you two doing here?" he asked.

"Well, we hadn't seen you in a few days and figured-"

"Oh, yeah, about that. I'm going to sleep over at Sam's-" he gestured to the scrawny boy beside him "-so I'll see you two sometime soon, okay?"

"Nice to meet you Sam," John said with a smile to the other boy. He then turned back to his son and said, "Nice try, but no. You're coming home."

Hamish grimaced. "I would really like to hang out with Sam tonight."

"Yes, and your father and I would really like you to come home," John smiled.

"I-"

"We're the parents, you're the kid. Home. Now," John was still smiling, but he entered soldier mode and commanded that Hamish come home. Hamish knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone of voice. Meanwhile, Sam had shrunk a bit (_If that was at all possible. Dear God, did that child's parent's feed him?_ Sherlock wondered.) as the waves of authority rolling off of John hit him.

"I, uh, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Sam mumbled.

"Sure, see you then," Hamish said miserably.

Once the three of them were standing alone, John suggested that they get a cab and just go straight home. Hamish nodded, looking as if he were about to walk to his death.

The three of them were silent on the ride home. It was incredibly awkward for everyone. Even the cabbie could have cut the tension with a knife.

Once back at the flat, Hamish attempted to run up to his room.

"Hold up, kiddo, we haven't even talked. Come back down now," John demanded.

Hamish turned and looked like he was about to be shot. He looked completely miserable as he sat down at the kitchen table.

John looked at Sherlock to see if he wanted to begin the discussion, but Sherlock just kept his eyes fixed on the floor. _Right, no help there. Should have known_, John thought. He sighed and began talking.

"Hamish, about the other night-"

"Please, Dad, I really can't talk about it. Can't we just, I don't know, not?"

"Your Dad feels that if we address the issue, we will all feel less awkward," Sherlock supplied.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but sitting here about to talk to my parents about catching them in bed is just about as awkward as it can get in my book. So maybe if we ended the discussion, we could just all feel less awkward now," Hamish suggested.

"Nice try," John smiled. "Listen, Hamish, we really feel awful about the fact that you had to see that. We really have tried to keep that aspect of our relationship between the two of us since you came into our lives. I, um, well, I just feel like I've failed as a parent because I wasn't able to protect you from that." John's voice got a bit thicker there and Sherlock took this opportunity to clasp his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. He didn't relinquish his grip on it, though. He caressed the knuckles with his thumb. "I've just felt like shit the last few days because of this and I'm so, so sorry."

"It isn't your fault, John, don't be silly. We are both to blame," Sherlock said softly.

John gave Sherlock a small smile, but quickly turned his attention back to his son. "Look, when I was your age I walked in on my parents and we never talked about it. I felt awful about it and I wished they had said something about it just to make me feel marginally better. I swore when you were born that I would protect you from some things that I wasn't protected from as a kid, and this was one of those things. It sort of pales in comparison to things like alcoholism, but it still was on my list. I'm so sorry that I failed you."

"You didn't fail at anything, Dad," Hamish sighed. "I just wish that I could forget it."

"You and me both, Hamish."

"Could I go upstairs now?" Hamish asked hopefully.

"Do you forgive us?" John asked.

"Yeah. I mean, you weren't doing anything wrong. I guess I'm just glad you still do it. So many of my friend's parents are getting divorced, so in a way it's nice to know that you two still love each other so much. Just make sure to lock your door or something like that when you're, you know…"

"We will definitely do that," John smiled. "Feel like hugs?"

"I won't be allowed to leave until I do, will I?"

"Spot on."

Hamish walked around the table and gave Sherlock a hug. Sherlock buried his face in his son's curls and kissed the top of his head.

"Too much sentiment in this conversation for you, Papa?" Hamish joked into his Papa's chest.

Sherlock chucked deeply. "More like a lack of expertise in the area. I love you very much, son, and I'm sorry about this."

"Love you too," Hamish sighed into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock squeezed him a bit tighter and John could have sworn that he saw a bit of wetness in Sherlock's eyes.

Finally, Hamish moved over to John. John clung to his son like his life depended on it. "I love you so much," he said thickly, kissing the top of his son's head.

"I love you too, Daddy. You didn't fail, I promise," Hamish said sweetly.

That was too much for John. He squeezed Hamish a bit tighter and a few tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. Sherlock moved over to the two of them and embraced them. John grasped the back of his neck and Sherlock used one hand to stroke Hamish's curls and the other to wipe away the tear tracks from John's face. It was a really sweet moment until Hamish said, "Um, Daddy? Papa?"

"Yes, son?" Sherlock asked.

"I love you two, but considering the reason we just had this little family meeting, I feel a little awkward being between the two of you. Could I go upstairs now?"

Both Sherlock and John laughed. "Sure thing. We'll see you at dinner," Sherlock said.

Hamish retreated up the stairs. Sherlock closed the gap where their son had stood and embraced his husband tightly, rocking him to keep him calm.

"We aren't out of the woods yet," Sherlock remarked.

"No, but I would rather be at this point than where we were before," John said, nuzzling his head into the space where Sherlock's shoulder met his neck.

They stood there for several minutes more. Sherlock finally broke the silence by saying, "Promise me you'll stop comparing yourself to your father. You are a wonderful parent, John, and you have given Hamish everything you promised him that day in the nursery the day after we brought him home." Sherlock could feel a bit of wetness on the skin of his neck. This crying was incredibly unlike John, and it scared Sherlock. Nonetheless, he kept talking. "I couldn't have asked for a better partner to raise a child with, let alone a partner in life. You are the light of my life, and without you I would be so lost. I know you doubt yourself frequently, but you have no reason to. You are too wonderful to have those doubts, and I hope one day you realize just how fantastic you are."

John was crying in earnest into Sherlock's shoulder by this point. Silently, of course, but the emotion was still there. He squeezed Sherlock in a silent response and the remained there for hours. They only broke apart when Hamish came downstairs and said, "I thought we were going to have dinner. Have you two moved from that spot since I went upstairs?"

Things were still awkward for a while after their discussion. Sherlock and John had to be careful about showing too much affection in front of Hamish for a while because whenever they would, he would blush a furious shade of fuchsia. Sherlock and John didn't have sex for several weeks because they were so worried about being caught. Thankfully, the amount of sexual tension between the two of them was worse than the few months before they began dating and Lestrade decided it would be wisest to have Mycroft send them away for a weekend and they would watch Hamish. Sherlock and John agreed to this after Mycroft and Lestrade promised that under no circumstances they would have sex.

Slowly, though, the tension in the flat dissipated and things got back to normal. It was almost as if the whole ordeal hadn't happened. Sherlock and Hamish wouldn't admit it, but the talk that John had forced them to have made things much less awkward for them, and deep down they were thankful for it. John knew this, despite the fact that his husband and son did their best to hide it from him, and he didn't gloat about it out loud.

One thing that they did know, though, was their already strong relationship was rock solid now. It warmed John's heart, the sentiment confused Sherlock but ultimately made him happy, and Hamish felt incredibly loved. The circumstances that had caused this could have been better, but they were thankful that the end result of the whole ordeal was so positive. Everything in 221B Baker Street was just fine.

**A/N: Remember when I said it would probably take me an extra day to get this up because I wanted to make sure it was perfect before I posted it? Well, clearly I'm just a big fat liar and you shouldn't listen to anything I say ever.**

**That's it! I hope that y'all enjoyed reading this a fraction of how much I loved writing it! Thank you to everyone who has supported this story. I means so much to me. I can't even begin to describe how wonderful it makes me feel. Thanks so much for reading!**

**I think I'm still obligated to say nothing here is mine (except for Hamish. I made that shit up. Not the name, just the kid's personality.) and that I am really, ****_really _****sorry to ACD and Moftiss for ruining all of their hard work with my little drabbles. Sorry, boys.**


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